Lovers' Lies Read online

  Lovers' Lies

  By

  Shirley Wine

  For more information on this author visit

  http://www.shirleywine.com

  Lovers' Lies

  Copyright© 2012 by Shirley Wine

  Publisher: Shirley Wine 2012

  Cover Design

  Copyright 2012©Philip Pearson

  Photo from Dreamstimes

  ISBNKindle:978-0-473-22449-3

  ISBN PDF: 978-0-473-22418-9

  ISBN ePub: 978-0-473-22448-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning to a computer disc, or by any other informational storage and retrieval system without express permission in writing from the author and publisher. This work is protected under the statutes of the copyright act.

  Disclaimer

  The characters and events in this book are the creation of the author, and resemblance to persons, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental. Towns and places are used as settings and have no relation to any event or actual happening outside the author’s imagination.

  Dedication

  This one is for my late father, Jim Molony.

  You taught me to dream, to reach for the stars, to have faith in myself, and that to err is human, to forgive divine. It's been a tough journey, Dad, but I've finally reached that goal.

  I love and miss you so much.

  Chapter One

  Victoria Scanlan leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed, toes tapping in time to the rhythmic beat of an African quartet's jazzed up version of a classical tune that belted from the car's stereo system.

  The subtle scent of leather, Logan's spicy cologne and the music drained the tension of her hectic day.

  She'd closed her florist shop in Cambridge later than usual after a flurry of last minute customers. It seemed that everyone wanted flowers for Easter and left their purchase until almost closing time.

  God, but she needed this break.

  Four blissful days. No telephone. No demanding clients. No five-year-old to entertain. No housework or cooking.

  "This sure as heck beats listening to Connor's music."

  "No kidding." Logan tapped to the beat on the steering wheel. "I know you love that little tyke but don't you ever crave some real freedom, Tori? After five years of single parenting?"

  Startled, she turned to look at him, frowning. "Freedom from Connor?"

  "I didn't mean that exactly."

  Eyes wide, Victoria jerked upright. What was Logan getting at? "Then what exactly did you mean?"

  "You work too hard." His grin faded. "All day at Victorian Grace, come home to housework and being Connor's mum, and when he's in bed, you work on the shop's books. Where in this workload is your time?"

  Victoria shrugged. "That's just the way it is?"

  "What I'd like to know, where's Connor's father in all of this?" Logan glanced at her. "While you're working your tail off, what's he doing?"

  Apprehension leached her relaxation. Why was Logan resurrecting this old argument now? "Connor's father is out of the picture, and may I remind you Victorian Grace provides a home and income for me and my son."

  And gives me a very precious independence.

  But nothing was more important to Victoria than her son. Nothing. And no one. Nor was her relationship with Connor's father up for discussion.

  "It's not right."

  Maybe, but that's the way the dice had rolled in her life. She glanced at his profile, but the dimness of the car made it difficult to discern his expression.

  "Let it go, Logan. Don't make me regret accepting this invitation to spend the weekend with your family at Darkhaven."

  "If you married me, you'd never need to work."

  Victoria's hands clenched in her lap. Marriage to Logan would merely exchange one yoke for another.

  She could never marry a man she didn't love.

  "Logan, I value your friendship—"

  "— but you don't love me. I know. You prefer to work like a slave. Even here, for a rare weekend of relaxation, you're bringing work."

  Her misgivings over accepting this invitation escalated.

  "Listen up, Logan Sinclair. You suggested I bring my portfolio. And you paved the way for me to make this presentation to your mother and the bride."

  And Victoria was the first to admit, it was the chance of a lifetime.

  If she could secure the commission for the flowers for the Donovan-Strathmore wedding it would be such a coup for Victorian Grace.

  Logan's stepbrother, Keir Donovan, on his recent return from America had announced his engagement to Davina Strathmore, daughter of media mogul James Strathmore.

  Their spring wedding promised to be the highlight of Cambridge's social season. And Victoria knew if she could secure a commission that size it would boost Victorian Grace's business and she could afford to employ an assistant.

  Now, Logan's less than subtle complaints had her relaxation giving way to jitters.

  The Donovans were old money and big landholders in New Zealand’s rich Waikato hinterland. Logan Sinclair and his stepfather, Caine Donovan, ran Darkhaven, one of the most successful racing stables in Cambridge, their family, leaders among the fashionable society of the racing fraternity.

  And Victoria sure as hell had never mingled in their elite social circle.

  The car headlights outlined the imposing pillars of the entrance to Darkhaven.

  As they drove up the wide, sweeping drive, the headlamps illuminated the ghostly shapes of shrubberies and flowerbeds. She strained to see, but only caught tantalizing glimpses.

  Logan parked beneath the portico and came around to open her door. He had charming manners, was personable and attentive. So why couldn’t she fall in love with him? Lord knows he’d asked her to marry him more than once.

  Because he has very big boots to fill, he’s not Seth.

  Victoria shoved the old hurt back inside the closet of unfulfilled dreams, a closet damn near bursting at seams.

  She stepped out of the car and took stock of her surroundings while Logan retrieved her suitcase from the trunk and gave the parking valet the keys.

  Ground lights illuminated neatly trimmed box hedges and white flowered standard roses. Sweetly scented white nicotiana released an intoxicating perfume on the evening air.

  Victoria inhaled appreciatively.

  Logan carried her suitcase and they walked up the wide half-moon steps. She was far too aware of her heart's uncomfortably fast beat and bone dry mouth.

  Victoria ran a trembling hand down the severely tailored skirt of her business suit. Was it the correct choice? Or should she have opted for something more casual?

  The impressive oak door was opened by a short, rotund man, impeccably attired in a dark suit, white shirt and black bow tie. She released a soft relieved sigh; she'd made the right choice.

  "Good evening, Wilkins, where’s the family?" Logan handed the man her suitcase.

  "They've assembled in the Ruby Lounge."

  Wilkins was exactly what she'd imagined a Victorian butler to be like. And as formal. He held out a hand for her satchel.

  More than a little reluctant, she surrendered it. That satchel held her livelihood.

  Wilkins placed both cases neatly beside an antique Buhl table topped with an elaborate floral arrangement. Victoria blinked, took a step closer and looked again—yes they were silk flowers. And that quickly her nerves settled.

  The use of artificial flowers was so—well artificial.

  "Which room has Mother given Victoria?"

  Logan’s question pulled her attention from the flowers.

  "She’s been allocated the Emera
ld Suite."

  Logan stiffened and his pale, ice-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Is Mother afraid I’ll walk in the night?"

  Wilkins carefully ignored Logan's question, turned on an immaculately shod heel, and preceded them down a wide corridor.

  "What was all that about?" she asked in a whisper, too anxious to notice more than the blur of opulence.

  "You're next door to the suite Keir uses on his rare visits here," he said in a biting murmur. "And that's as far from everyone as it's possible to get."

  "How does this concern me?"

  "Since returning from the States, my stepbrother has been as intimidating as all get out. Don’t let him get to you."

  "I’m here to quote on flowers, not seduce you."

  Logan flushed, his smile held more than a little edge of guilt.

  She gripped his arm, fingers digging into hard muscle, halting him mid-stride. "What don’t I know, Logan?"

  He turned on his most charming smile. "I told them you were much more than a friend, Tori."

  "You had no right," she said in a furious undertone. "What about the flowers?"

  A guilty flush spread up under his tan. "Hey, it’s only a weekend. And you know I want to move past being just friends."

  And that swiftly, all her doubts about the wisdom of accepting this invitation to spend Easter weekend at Darkhaven, shrieked in unison.

  "Friends don’t drop each other in unexpected situations."

  Wilkins opened a paneled door and announced them.

  It was too late to back out.

  Victoria had little alternative but to brazen it out.

  She walked at Logan’s side across a huge room, artfully lit to create pockets of light and shadow. Her attention focused on the elegantly dressed blonde whose hair she suspected owed more to her hairdresser than nature, and the tall, spare man at her side.

  With a sick, sinking sensation in her stomach, she recognized a veiled hostility in the woman’s eyes. And any thought of a relaxed weekend evaporated like mist before the sun.

  "Mother, my friend Victoria Scanlan." Logan drew her forward. "My mother, Muriel Donovan."

  "Welcome to Darkhaven."

  The limpid touch of Muriel’s fingers chilled Victoria to the bone. The hint of steel in the soft tones warned her that this woman was no pushover.

  Logan turned toward the man. "My stepfather, Caine."

  "Welcome Victoria," he said with genuine warmth.

  Tanned and all whipcord strength, with a liberal sprinkling of silver in his dark hair, he gripped her hand. As she looked into his shrewd, dark eyes, she was more than a little startled by a weird sense of familiarity.

  Yet she knew they’d never met.

  Caine Donovan was not a man anyone would ever forget meeting.

  "It was so kind of you to invite me. Logan’s told me so much about you."

  "Has he?" Caine chuckled, squeezing her hand. "I look forward to knowing you better. You haven’t met my son, Keir?"

  He turned toward a man standing in the shadows, almost hidden by another towering floral arrangement, so still she'd not realized he was there.

  He stepped into the light.

  A gasp escaped. Her heart stopped beating and her breathing suspended as she tumbled through endless black space.

  A strong warm hand enveloped her outstretched one, frozen in mid movement. "Victoria, it’s been a long time."

  "Seth!" The strangled word scraped past frozen vocal cords.

  Chapter Two

  You’re clever, Mommy. Why can’t you find my daddy? Her little boy’s words were a hollow drumbeat in Victoria's cotton-wool brain.

  Connor!

  Keir Donovan was Connor’s father?

  Hysteria merged with the shock pulsing through her blood stream.

  Suddenly lightheaded, she clung to his hand as her knees buckled and threatened to dump her at his feet.

  His chocolate eyes narrowed.

  That stern mouth compressed. His supportive grip strengthened as he clasped her other hand, fluttering helplessly like a wounded bird.

  The unmistakable concern in his dark eyes reached right inside, steadying her.

  "Seth?" Caine’s question was a muffled echo in her ears.

  Victoria caught Caine’s frowning glance and managed a shaken breath and then another. When did I stop breathing?

  "A private joke."

  Seth's deep voice pierced her numbness. Some joke!

  The words tasted as bitter as aloes.

  That damn closet door jerked wide open.

  She struggled for a rational explanation but shock and bewilderment made coherent thought all but impossible.

  And she'd come here hoping to quote on flowers for his wedding?

  Like that would ever happen!

  With perspicacity, Victoria saw the chasm yawning at her feet and knew she teetered on the brink of disaster.

  The foundations of her world crumbled and she was standing on quicksand. The wrong move and—

  "You two know each other?" Logan looked from one to the other, dark brows drawn together in a forbidding frown.

  Keir’s grip on her hands tightened in unspoken warning. Her understanding and instinctive response after all this time, shocked her rigid.

  Oh God! This is such treacherous ground.

  "We met a few years ago. I’m flattered you remember me."

  Not remember him?

  His humor grated on emotions rubbed raw.

  Victoria shrugged and, suddenly realizing he still held her hands, jerked them free. Disillusionment warred with outrage.

  No wonder I could never find him.

  Victoria searched for some plausible excuse to leave. She needed to escape.

  This room.

  This house.

  This man!

  It was Muriel Donovan who broke the escalating tension. "Where did you meet Victoria, Keir?"

  "Victoria and I met one summer a few years back. She was staying with her uncle and aunt at their motor camp at Orere Point while her mother was in hospital." His velvet eyes brimmed with cynical amusement. "I’m sorry I wasn’t able to comfort you after your mother’s death."

  And that quickly, Victoria was transported back to that fateful summer. Her mother's illness, her father insistence she take a holiday she didn't want, and Seth's quiet compassion and gentleness, a tenderness that had led to so much more.

  Now, she looked at the man in question, shaking her head, as she struggled with disbelief.

  "It was a long time ago. My father remarried last year." She shrugged and turned to Logan, the need to escape taking precedence over good manners. "Can I go to my room, please?"

  Logan glanced at his mother. "Victoria’s come from work and needs to freshen up."

  "Show her upstairs then come back down." Muriel’s smile never reached her eyes. And we can discuss why you invited this woman.

  Had the words been written in meter high letters, they couldn't be plainer.

  It took every ounce of dignity Victoria possessed to walk sedately at Logan's side and not throw up her hands and run screaming from the room, this house.

  With her thoughts in such a chaotic tangle, Victoria barely noticed the luxury of Logan's home. They climbed an ornately curved stairway. Desperate to escape, she cudgeled her brains for a credible excuse to leave Darkhaven.

  Now.

  "Mother wants me to explain why I invited you," he said wryly.

  "You invited me? What about the flowers—" She broke off, mind spinning. "There never was a chance of that commission, was there?"

  Bile stung her throat. She'd not seen this coming. Anger and betrayal fought for supremacy.

  "The emerald suite." Logan opened the door and ushered her into a spacious bedroom.

  Victoria gained a blurred impression of oppressive green as she turned on him, hands clenched, anger and apprehension waging war.

  "What the hell’s going on, Logan?"

  Too aware of his intense gaze, Victo
ria knew she was treading on egg shells.

  "You tell me. Meeting with Keir really threw you. Why?"

  As if I can explain?

  She decided offence was her best defense. "Tell me why that’s any of your business?"

  Logan's ice-blue eyes glittered. "You’re my guest. Why wouldn’t I be concerned?"

  With a convulsive shiver Victoria knew that damn mental closet had sprung one humongous leak.

  Connor.

  Chilled to the bone, she rubbed hands up her arms as she fought down panic. Unable to hold Logan's keen gaze she looked everywhere but at him, desperate for inspiration.

  Keir Donovan was Connor's father.

  No matter how often that thought echoed through her head, Victoria struggled with the enormity of the discovery.

  And the man she’d known bore little resemblance to that forbidding stranger downstairs.

  Victoria bit down on her lower lip, and then said decisively, "I want to go home, Logan. I should never have come. Your mother doesn’t want me here."

  "She’ll survive. Understand this, Victoria. My mother doesn't dictate my choice of friends or who I get to spend my life with." He gripped her hands. "Besides, if I took you home now, don’t you think they’d all be mighty curious?"

  Horrified, she stared at him.

  His words made a sick kind of sense he would never understand. The last thing she wanted was to rouse Keir’s curiosity.

  Survive this weekend and she could fade out of Logan’s life. The Donovans would breathe a sigh of relief. And Connor would be safe.

  Don't kid yourself. Life's never that simple.

  "He was rotten to me that summer," she prevaricated. "I’ve never forgotten."

  "Keir can be a fiend but he’d never hurt you." Logan tried to jolly her into a better mood. "Get past that crusty exterior and you'll find a kind, honorable man."

  Not hurt her? Kind? Honorable?

  Yeah, right! Seth held the power to bring her to her knees.

  "Please stay, Tori." Logan spoke quietly, catching her hands in his. "I'm sorry I misled you. Look on this weekend as a well-deserved break."